


Stick to Your Guns, Spray a Revolution

by hareefaree



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Corrupt JJ, Graffiti Artist/Mob/Revolution from the Streets AU, Includes graffiti art and character designs, Multi, Non-Gender Conforming Christophe, Nonbinary Minami, Possible smut, Rap Battles, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hareefaree/pseuds/hareefaree
Summary: Osyla is dying.It has been for a while. Ever since the new President entered the capital building, money has been flowing out of the government and into the growing mob violence. Corrupt demagogues take and give from and to the wrong people. The poor are being suffocated by the wealthy. There is no middle classThat won't do for Katsuki Yuuri, a Education Board member and main money source for the Hasetsu Orphanage. He'll bring this regime dowm.He'll do it with spray paint.





	

**_[Victor Nikiforov /alias King.] 9:00 pm, Corner of Hick and Scenic._ **

 

“Alright, Yuri. Tell me what you see.”

The blonde boy huffed next to him, crouching down to get a better view. Victor adjusted his position to let the fifteen year-old sit next to him, providing an easy spot to watch the open window where there target sat. Yuri sighed.

“What we’ve been staring at for an hour, _old man_ ; Eight-Ball, that klutz from the weapons spot, cheating on his wife. There’s really nothing important here. Can we just shoot him already and be done with it?” Yuri hissed, rubbing his sleeved arms for warmth. The two of them were crouching on a balcony on the building across from their target, at approximately three feet above the weapons dealer’s apartment. Victor hefted a gun on his shoulder, black and long and filled only with a single bullet.That’s what Yakov had ordered, anyway. A single shot and they were out of there, whether they killed Eight-Ball or not.

“Old man? Yuri, that hurts me. How could you treat your teacher like that?” Victor said, his voice light and teasing while his eyes remained zeroed in on Eight-Ball. This was a long shot, even for him. The angle was off, and the window was half closed. Making it out of here without the glass shattering on the floor and them alerting the group Eight-Ball belonged to was unlikely.

Victor breathed, long and slow. At least they wouldn’t have to deal with the authorities. They had all sorts of new toys that he didn’t want to deal with, and he was glad that they had managed to outbid the Billiards Gang in the money in the cop’s pockets. Victor clicked his tongue impatiently. Thanks to the well-earned cash they had given the police chief (well, depending on what you considered well-earned), this area would be empty tonight. But they needed to be silent - no doubt someone would have tipped off the Billiards and they’d be watching. Victor wasn’t keen on losing his protege today, so he practiced caution.

“Oh my God! Get on with it- or let me shoot!” Yuri hissed, his voice low but less modulated than Victor, mixing his eagerness and his fear in a slur of words. Had this been three years ago, Victor would’ve shivered at the anticipation in the teenager’s voice. Shivered at the hunger for blood. Eight-Ball hadn’t even done anything of note, really. The man was in possession of some compromising information regarding the Running Blade’s government supporter. It was their job to end his life for the sake of more guns, guns that the gang honestly didn’t even need.

“Patience, _Yura_.” Victor whispered, pointing to something. Yuri glanced up, following the gesture with an exasperated curiosity. Victor tilted his fingers and he saw what the man was pointing at. There was a man at the bottom of the staircase, a beanie making it impossible to determine where his eyes were or what his expression was. His hand was in his jacket, probably resting on the hilt of a pistol. Yuri cursed under his breath.

“Relax, Yuri,” Victor said, chuckling slightly at his sidekick’s agitation, “It just means we won’t just need to use a bullet. You remember how to throw knives?” He asked, tilting his head to Yuri while keeping his eyes on a car that was pulling up in the otherwise empty driveway. A woman with an atrocious mess of red hair (it was definitely dyed, he determined) was stepping out, pulling out a bag of groceries with smile on her face. She looked so pleasant and innocent, Victor had to crinkle his nose at her. She probably ate well without the fear of death, with the money from her husband’s pockets. Money she definitely didn’t question for the sake of her own conscience.Yuri nodded, gulping at the question.

“The angle is off, though.” He said, furrowing his brow. Victor nudged him, his voice turning gentle.

“You’ll be fine.” He grinned cheekily, lifting a finger and winking, “After all, that’s the only skill that makes you of any sort of use to the Running Blades!” 

Yuri glared back at him. He didn’t argue, though, reaching into his leopard-printed bomber jacket for a generic throwing knife, one that didn’t leave any sort of calling sign to the specific duo or their gang. He was wearing gloves too - they both were, in case they’d have to leave something behind. The woman disappeared into the building, carrying the bag of groceries into the building. Victor estimated thirty-three second before she reached the room. He nodded.

Yuri moved with a fluid grace, practiced and sure. The knife left his hands with a snap of his wrist and it hit it’s target right on the neck. The man at the bottom of the staircase collapsed with a grunt. The way the knife stuck out of the base of his head, right where his hair ended and directly under the beanie assured the two that the man was, indeed, dead. The sound brought the attention of Eight-Ball, who was already near the window. 

Before the man at the floor collapsed, Victor twitched his fingers over the trigger. The sound echoed through the area and Victor winced, but he knew the bullet had hit its target.

He nudged Yuri and he took the cue. Their ride was pulling up at the rendezvous point right now.

They disappeared to the sound of a woman screaming, her vegetables and cans of food rolling on the floor as she nudged her dead, disloyal husband. He was gone, and Victor felt a twinge of something - a mix of satisfaction and wonder - at his success.

~

**_[Christophe Giacometti ] 10: 31 pm, The Grand Prix Bar and Casino_**

Christophe’s butt was getting more and more sore by the minute. 

The way he was perched on the police officer’s lap was more than uncomfortable, relying mostly on his upper body strength to keep him upright. The hand Officer Sergio kept in the small of his back was little help - the hand was limp and was probably only there to feel up his ass.

Not to mention the dress he was in was atrociously tight. Normally Christophe enjoyed body-fitting dresses, but this one’s fabric hugged the wrong spots and rubbed against them. It practically chafed. He wish he had realized the quality of the fabric two hours ago, when he had decided to put it on for the night.

But Chris still smiled. He still rubbed his cheek on Sergio’s stubble like a cat in heat. He still wrapped his arms around Sergio’s shoulders. The other officers - men and women of differing creep levels - had there eyes on him, staring at him almost hungrily.

Chris knew he was a fine piece of ass, but this was more terrifying than fun.

“What do you say, Christophe?” Sergio asked, his breath smelling of beer and beef and tobacco, which Cristophe wanted to wave away but he couldn’t - not without falling down on the floor, “How about after this, you and I spend some time alone?”

The other policemen groaned.

“You’ve got to share him with the rest of us!” A woman sneered from across the table. Christophe felt himself shudder.

Officer Sergio Sebastian, a squadron leader. The very leader of the crew gathered today of a game of poker. They had agreed to leave the area Victor and Yuri would be spending their time in for the night empty in exchange for a game of poker and a few extra bucks. And Christophe’s body. The woman who laid claim to him was named Jessica Newman, an underling and not very intelligent. She was accused of child pornography once. Christophe shivered.

_“Chrrrriiisss!”_ Trilled a voice from an entrance to the poker room - rolling and light, twinged with a Russian accent, “It is so nice to see you, _brother_.” 

In came Viktor Nikiforov, followed by a boy of fifteen in a serving uniform and a permanent pout etched across his face. Victor himself was in a dapper suit, tugging on his gloves and grinning at Cristophe. The man felt a wave of appreciation for the gunman, as well as a brisk sense of urgency. Christophe had information, and his position made it impossible for him to share it without tipping off the policemen

The shift in the room was obvious - as soon as the policemen had recognized Victor Nikiforov, the nation-state of Oslya’s most dangerous man, they were all on edge. Even Christophe was; Victor was a wild card, was unpredictable and blindingly erratic in his actions. But he knew Victor, the King of the Running Blades, and he knew that the easy smile on the man’s face meant the job had gone well. Christophe felt something in his stomach drop. Though his news was a small kink in the system, though it was small and practically insignificant compared to some of the other things Victor had gone through, Victor was unpredictable. His reaction could be an easy smile - small, assuring, friendly - or a giant outburst.

He hoped that Victor wouldn’t mind having his talents used for offing a graffiti artist or two.

Victor stepped over to the men, putting a finger to his chin in deep thought as he regarded the game.

“High stakes, eh? Mind if I join in, gentlemen?” He asked, smiling a disarming smile. Christophe hid a laugh as he saw Yuri roll his eyes at the man, before turning his gaze to Cristophe with slight concern. He mouthed something, like ‘come, on, you’re wasting time,’ and Christophe nodded.

“Oops!” He said in a too-high voice, “It seems we’re out of champagne. I’ll go with this… lovely serving boy, to grab some, okay?” He bat his eyes at Sergio again and got up to a groan of disappointment from Sergio and some of the others. He mentally slapped himself. He had sounded nervous, didn't he?  
The two left the room as Victor sat down, no doubt talking the group of policemen up, congratulating them on their work and analyzing each of their faces to figure out who he’d be watching for. Christophe didn’t hesitate to believe that Victor would win this round.

Yuri led Christophe to the staff-only room, which was a staircase that led upstairs to where people could stay or where Yakov would call meetings and discuss their actions. They stopped in a conference room - the one where Christophe had changed into this outfit, the one that had a little vanity where he could put on makeup as well as where he could gently pull the bobby pins that attached his lopsided, itchy wig to his head. Yuri watched with hurried irritation as Christophe gently pulled the high heels off his feet before leaning into a beanbag chair - one far more comfortable than Sergio’s lap.

“Yakov said you had some important information.” Yuri hissed quietly, though the only other people here would be Yakov and possibly Sara. Christophe tilted his head and smirked at the boy.

“Really?” He asked, leaning a little bit more into the chair, “Hmm, let’s see...” Regardless of how Victor would react, Yuri was fun to mess with. He was nothing to be afraid of - the two had sparred verbally enough times to know his tics and how he could use that aggression his advantage.

“Well, I recall there was a really nice deal on suits at that one store Victor love-”

“Christophe”

“Fine, Yurachta,” Christophe laid back, letting a luxurious stretch. He liked to think of himself like a cat - sexy, powerful, dangerous. And he was quite sure Yuri had a kink or something, (he literally blushed and looked away as he stretched). He eased back, leaning like Cleopatra did in all those paintings.

“You get to kill a graffiti artist, Yuri. Isn’t that fun?”

~

**_[Katsuki Yuuri/ Eros] 11:39 PM, Hasetsu Orphanage_**

Katsuki Yuuri was many things. A hobbyist ice skater, gay, an artist, and a wonderful parental figure. But he was not, however hard he tried, a miracle worker. As he looked through the bills for the month, he tried to figure out how, exactly, his family would be able to pay for the heating of their building.

The Hasetsu Orphanage, in what was fondly known as ‘Ice Castle’ district of Osyla (named for the weirdly constant chill and an odd crystal formation at the edge with no discernible origin except for the neighboring country’s increasingly worrying antics that may or may not involve magic) was a, though state-funded, poor and sad orphanage. The Katsuki family did it’s best with the limited government funding as well as Yuuri’s own paycheck and donations from Minako and the Nishigori family, but even then it was hard. What they lacked in money, though, they more than made up for in the love and affection for their wards.

In all honesty, it was a glorified foster care home. Osyla was a big enough country to hold several orphanages (though in total, there were only 18, one for three city-sized districts). The Katsuki family mainly funded it out-of-pocket, and it usually meant summers without air conditioning and winters in the main room, everyone piled on top of each other while watching Christmas specials in the under the ratty but warm and loved comforters. It helped immensely that the Hasetsu Orphanage wasn’t filled to the brim, with a total of 21 kids and 7 workers in comparison to the five kids per caretaker ratio. 

He thanked the gods and the spirits of whoever had lived before him for the workers, too. Otabek, a medical student who volunteered to log in hours at his prestigious college and check up on the kids never asked for pay. Neither did Phichit, only slightly younger than Yuuri who had joined up as an orphan and stayed as his best friend for room and food instead of money. Minako often came by to check up on the kiddos, and taught them what school didn’t and helped spark that fire with a roaring laugh and a fun dance routine. And the Nishigori family often ran ad campaigns for donations inside their wonderfully busy ice skating rink.

Still, it was hard. Yuuri rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers and let them stay there without moving, too tired to move them. He just wanted to glue his eyes shut and sleep forever, maybe after a dish of pork cutlet bowl before patting the kids on the head instead of rushing off to work the next morning as the Dean of Education Supervision in the pathetically underfunded Oslyan Education Board.

“Yuuri?” A kiddish voice came from behind him, and despite the familiarity, he jumped. Like, literally - he shot a good seven inches into the air before letting a very unceremonious squeak.

It didn’t faze the miniature blonde 12 year-old, who had dealt with this sort of thing far too many times.

“Yuuri? You need to sleep.” The kid said, crossing their arms and glaring at their caretaker with a small smile. Yuuri glanced back, tired eyes taking a few seconds to register his ward. 

“Oh. Thank you, Minami. W-what time is it now?” He asked, running a finger through his hair. It felt greasy and he tried to recall the last time he had taken a proper bath.

“Eleven ‘o'clock.” They said, exaggerating each of the syllables like a toddler who was proud of using a big word, “You said you have to leave for work at three am. Meaning if you sleep now, you’ll get 4 hours of sleep, which is half of what you actually need.” Minami said, cocking their head and softening their eyes.

“We all appreciate the work you’re putting in, Yuuri! I hope to one day be like you, but please, take care of yourself. We’re counting on your health.” Minami’s voice was both firm and soft. Yuuri could hear his father’s snores from here, and it just sent him farther into that half-dream half-focused state he was in.

“Ah. Yes. I-is Phitchit awake?” 

Minami blinked, confused. 

“Of course not. He’s out like a log. Why?” They asked, blinking. Yuuri shook his head.

“Nothing.”

~~

**_[Nikolai Plisetski] 11: 43 PM, Ice Castle Hospital_**

The man at his bedside hadn’t said a word since he had come here. Nikolai - never one to start a conversation, had been faking sleep as soon as he had seen the man enter his hospital room. The man couldn’t have been much older than twenty - dapper hair without a streak of grey, fast and cunning eyes that had an interesting lack of wrinkles.

The man coughed into his hand. The professional facade was shattered. Nikolai opened his eyes, slowly, letting them seem alert and wise as they sat on the man for a little longer.

“You’re Yuri’s grandfather?” The man asked, cocking his to the side in a too-loud voice. He stood up and held his hand out. Nikolai stared at it for a few seconds before taking it. The man shook with an almost limp hand - though it didn’t mean much. Most handshakes were limp to Nikolai, with his large and thick palms, calloused from work in the steel factory.

The very steel factory that had put him in this hospital.

“Indeed.” Nikolai said with a nod of his head, “What do you want?” He kept his words clipped and hard, but the man didn’t back down.

“My name is Jean-Jacques Leroy - but you can call me JJ for short.” He said with a wink, hands twitching into a pose that made the letters with his fingers. Nikolai resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s gimmick, “I met with your grandson the other day. He mentioned you were in the hospital and I couldn’t resist a visit.”

Nikolai felt unsettling suspicion roll over him like a wave. Yuri had a knack for getting into trouble - and he had the inkling that he knew exactly why this man was here.

“Are you, by any chance, one of my son’s… friends?” He asked, tilting his head forward and trying not to wince in pain. His neck hurt so so much.

“Hmm?” JJ said, cocking his head in a curious expression that melted into a smile, “Oh - no, no, no! I’m not a member of the Running Blades. No need to worry, Mr. Plisetski.” 

Nikolai let his shoulder relax and rested back on the mountain of pillows he was on. JJ hummed and tapped his foot.

“However, I am in contact with their leader. Yakov was the person who had me meet your grandson. Cute little boy, isn’t he?” JJ said with a grin, tilting his head back and looking up in some sort of remembrance.

“Ah, yes.” Nikolai sighed, remembering his grandson’s easy grin whenever he saw him, the little flush that lit on his cheeks whenever he goaded Nikolai into telling a story. Those times were gone now; whenever Nikolai saw Yuri he sensed a hardness about him. Nikolai regretted very little in his life, but telling Yuri who exactly had killed his parents was something he wished he never did. 

JJ’s presence was getting more and more irritating. Nikolai wanted to sleep. Not listen to this man talk.

“What are you here for?” Nikolai said through slightly gritted teeth. His shoulders and back ached. JJ raised an eyebrow and smirked and something roiled deep in Nikolai’s stomach.

“I should be able to visit the man whose hospital bills I’m paying, shouldn’t I?”

Something plunged deep within Nikolai and he was fighting a panicked breath. Of course. Nikolai knew he couldn’t have payed for all this medical equipment for his many illnesses with the steel factory money. He had been subconsciously worried about the bills - treatment for pneumonia, the paralysis of his legs, therapy, heart conditions, and the lung cancer that was bound to hit him after all those cigarettes in his youth and middle-age. But they had been pushed far into his brain, so he could focus on recovery. But still, he hadn’t been kicked out of the hospital. 

Now that he thought about it, no one had come to him with a clipboard of bills to fill, no nurse with a hard smile and steely eyes to tell him sorry, you can’t put off the payment.

This JJ had been paying for him for the past year.

JJ laughed when he saw Nikolai’s reaction. 

“Don’t worry, Niki. It’s part of our deal. He runs, he kills, he fights for me. Just yesterday, he finished off a particularly irritating information broker. You should be proud.” JJ sat on the edge of Nikolai’s bed, pulling out a carton of cigarettes. Nikolai winced at the sight, ignoring the pain in his belly. JJ held one out to him.

“I don’t smoke.” Nikolai said through grit teeth, and JJ grinned. His demeanor had changed. This wasn’t the same limp handshake from earlier - it was a shrewd beast. JJ knew that he was giving poison to a dying man.

“That’s a good choice, my friend. Wouldn’t want the time you spent killing yourself with these to catch up with you now, right? I read in your file that you once quite enjoyed these things. Quit when you were forty-five - the same year your daughter and son-in-law died. The same year you took Yuri in. You won’t mind if I take a hit, though?

“Yes. I do mind.” Nikolai said, “The hospital has rules against this.”

JJ waved his hand and put one in his mouth, pulling out a lighter and quickly lighting it. Nikolai felt himself shake with something as he saw plumes of smoke leave JJ’s mouth as he blew it all up in the air. He lifted his hands to cover his mouth and nose.

“You know, your health is maintained by two people. Yuri does a lot of hard work, yes, but he does it for you. I have power over him. But the other man, his mentor - you may’ve heard of him. Victor Nikiforov, the King of the Running Blades, he doesn’t do it all for someone. Victor became such a good killer because he was bored. 

“Your grandson is being taught by a man who murders for fun, Niki.”

“Call me Mr. Plisetski.”

JJ waved his hand as if he was batting the request away. 

“Anyway, Victor gets paid far more than Yuri. But he uses only half of his funds. The other half ensures your stay in this hospital.” JJ took another long, slow drag from the cigarette.

The smoke went up in chain-like rings.

And Nikolai Plisetski realized his family was shackled to the Running Blades.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the heavy exposition in Yuuri's segment. Hope you liked it!


End file.
